


If All You See is Evil

by Pipasa



Series: Something New Everyday [3]
Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Ableism, Angst, Child Abuse, Crutchie Centric, Gen, Healing, Katherine is autistic, Let Crutchie Say Fuck, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, The Refuge, Trauma, Unintentional Ableism, the delancey brothers are villains and if you disagree dont interact
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:28:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23533822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pipasa/pseuds/Pipasa
Summary: “Seems like everythin’s back to normal, huh?” Jack placed his hands proudly on his hips as the headline was scratched out in chalk over them. “Almost seems too good to be true.”Davey watched a look pass Crutchie’s face- one that he couldn’t quite place, but he could tell it was not happy.“Yeah,” Crutchie mumbled. “Seems like.”///Or, immediately following the Newsies strike, Crutchie attempts to heal in his own way.
Relationships: Crutchie & David Jacobs, Crutchie & Jack Kelly, Crutchie & Katherine Plumber Pulitzer, Crutchie & the Newsies, Jack Kelly & Racetrack Higgins, Pre Crutchie/David Jacobs/Jack Kelly, Spot Conlon & Crutchie (Newsies), implied Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins
Series: Something New Everyday [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/778083
Comments: 10
Kudos: 65





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic includes references to child abuse as per The Refuge. If this sort of content is triggering, proceed with caution!

All things considered, he was a hell of a lot better than Jack had expected. Crutchie was the same kid- bruised, maybe, but still smiling- and Jack, the fearless strike leader, found himself unendingly shocked. He, just like all the other boys, expected Crutchie to break in the Refuge- yet, here he stood, whole.

Jack knew what he had been like when he first escaped the Refuge; his skin marred forever and mind worse, seeing ghosts at every corner. He became skittish, refusing to let anyone touch him. He slept very few hours, if any, and took years to recover with the careful love of his friends.

They had seen Race, too, when he first came out. That had been only a handful of years after Jack and infinitely worse. Race’s cigars became more prevalent, going from a habit to addiction, and landing him a bed by a window to open when it was too cold to really go out. He took more risks and placed more bets. No one knew what to do as he refused help- not denying that he needed it, but panicking at the effort. He had been broken but mended himself slowly, with the help of one Spot Conlon.

Knowing what the Refuge had done to Jack, Race, and the countless other boys it had swallowed, the Newsies had expected to meet a shell of Crutchie when he finally emerged (if he emerged at all). Not because they considered him weak, they would argue adamantly, but because they knew _Snyder_. They knew, some of them in the worst and most personal way, what he did to kids- worse, those who could not fight back. Hell, they saw Crutchie downed with his own mobility aid! They could only assume the worst!

They were right, in all ways except the most important.

///

The day Crutchie returned, they celebrated. They had _won_ \- all the hard work of the newsies had resulted in a grand success, and fun as it was, they were exhilarated the return to a somewhat normal life. They drank, cheered, and played games- some cried, and some laughed. The lodging-house burst with noise and joy.

But the next day, they worried.

When they awoke, hungover either literally or metaphorically, Crutchie’s leg was cramping something awful, even if he was pretending it wasn’t, and he was secretly dreading the possibility of encountering the Delancy brothers. The newsies, primarily Jack, hovered and encouraged him to stay home.

“You outta your mind? I got my ass beat to hell; I’m not gonna miss the rewards of what we sewed.”

“Come on, Crutch,” Jack insisted, sounding worried. “It’s just one day to recover, and you’ll be right as rain tomorrow. Whad’ya say?”

“I’se saying no,” he huffed, “you just ain’t listening.”

“Lemme sell with you, at least?”

“Fine, but we’s gonna sell at my spot. I miss it.”

Jack grumbled, and Crutchie shot him a fierce glare.

“Okay, okay, fine.”

///

Davey was by their side almost as soon as they entered the distribution center. Les rushed over even faster than his older brother and launched himself into Crutchie, almost taking the both of them to the ground.

“Woah, woah! Les, calm down!”

Though Davey looked panicked, Crutchie was laughing and readjusting his aid so that he could lift Les a few inches off the ground and plant a messy kiss on his cheek. Crutchie dropped Les with significantly little grace, but Les seemed unbothered.

“What? I missed him!”

“I missed you too, big guy,” Crutchie said as Jack reached down and ruffled Les’ hair. A brief moment of silence followed, and Davey seemed to take it as an invitation.

“It’s good to see ya back, Crutchie.”

“It’s good ta be back,” Crutchie said through a smile, though Davey noticed the corner of his lip twitch subtly.

“Seems like everythin’s back to normal, huh?” Jack placed his hands proudly on his hips as the headline was scratched out in chalk over them. “Almost seems too good to be true.”

Davey watched a look pass Crutchie’s face- one that he couldn’t quite place, but he could tell it was not happy.

“Yeah,” Crutchie mumbled. “Seems like.”

///

The day was long, and, by its end, Crutchie found himself at his wit’s end. His leg was aching from standing all day long, his voice hoarse from overuse. His skin was still sickly with red bruises and scabs, which turned out to make his papers sell faster, pulling a mixed emotion from his gut. He hated the look in the passerby’s eye as they caught sight of his crutch and a twisted frown coated their face as they held out a nickel.

At some point during the day, Jack had taken off to about a block down from Crutchie, much to his displeasure. Crutchie had refused his help, yelling that he just wanted to work, and Jack had blurted a half-assed apology, one born more of anger and frustration than actual guilt. Crutchie grimaced as he thought about all the over-the-shoulder looks Jack had given as he walked away, tail between his legs.

Still, Crutchie tried to shake off his stress and enjoy his day. He smiled as his regulars returned, each of them excited to see him and asking about the strike. He accepted their congratulations, hiding that he had been locked up for the majority of it, and dodged their questions about his bruises. They tipped him grandly, and he could take it as a kindness instead of an act of pity.

When he found his papers were gone and his pocket was full of change, he lowered himself to the curb, extending his twisted leg and massaging it gently to ease his pain before he started walking home. He had missed the view from his spot, anyway- not only that, but the fresh air hitting his cheeks and the sweet scent drifting in from a nearby flower cart were welcome sensations. He missed listening to the chatter of strangers, rather than the quiet shivering of frightened kids, begging for mercy- he missed things feeling _good_ , even if they weren’t all too grand.

As he mused, he spotted two men in suits coming his way on the street, and there was no way he could miss the harsh scoff of the taller man.

“You’d think someone would’ve done something with these beggars by now,” he huffed, his voice low and dripping in disgust. “They should lock them away or something."

“Keep these streets clean,” muttered the other in agreement.

Crutchie didn’t look their way and tried to ignore the lob of spit that landed near his seat on the concrete. His hands tensed around his twisted ankle, tears springing in his eyes. _‘Pick your battles,’_ he reminded himself desperately as he willed the tears away.

///

It took Jack a while longer to sell his papers than it had taken Crutchie, so, by the time he was done, Crutchie had been sitting on the curb, face turned up towards the now setting sun, for an hour or so. His eyes were closed, and he seemed completely unaware of Jack as he made his unsubtle approach. Jack felt a pain in his stomach- a nervousness.

He was worried. More- _way more-_ than Crutchie wanted him to be, he knew, but he couldn’t help it! Jack knew what had happened when he was in the Refuge, and exactly how broken he had been when he came out. The idea that Crutchie, someone he cared about ( ~~loved~~ ) so, so much, had to go through any of that- it was a walking nightmare. He had seen some of the damage marring Crutchie’s skin- his patchwork of bruises and the worsening of his limp, his leaning more heavily on his crutch- and could only imagine how much pain was hiding under the surface. But he couldn’t ask- no, Crutchie was not accepting any help, and Jack, for the life of him, could not understand _why_.

When Race got out, he didn’t lean much on Jack’s help, but it was understood why. The Manhattan newsboys simply were the people Race needed to lean on; Spot Conlon, all 64 inches of him, was enough to lift Race from the rut. Race and Spot had an understanding, and deeply important one, that allowed Race to be saved.

But Jack was supposed to be that for Crutchie in all the ways Crutchie had been the support for him. Jack knew Crutchie better than anyone; hell, they spent so many freezing nights only on the rooftop together; he thought Crutchie would open up the second they were reunited. That was what Jack had done when he escaped the Refuge- Crutchie had saved him, if not physically, then mentally.

He couldn’t understand why Crutchie wouldn’t let him do the same.

But, then again, sitting on the curb with the sunlight catching his lashes- Crutchie looked happy-- _unbothered_ , even. Jack couldn’t understand that.

How could anyone walk out of the Refuge and be fine?

Swallowed in his own thoughts, Jack failed to realize that Crutchie had opened his eyes and was now staring at Jack until it was too late. He felt his face flush, and Crutchie stood.

“Didn’t your mother teach ya it’s rude to stare?” Crutchie asked, half playfully, and Jack’s heart ached deep in his chest.

“Sorry. Ise just thinkin’.”

“What about?”

“Eh, nothin’ important. Let’s head back to the lodge.”

Crutchie gave him a skeptical look but shrugged lightly. And so, they were on their way.

///

As Jack and Crutchie made their way back to the lodging house, they were stopped by an excited Les and a tired-looking Davey. The duo had sold all of their papers, and they were now heading to Jacobi’s with some of the other boys.

“Of course, your welcome to join us,” Davey said with a crooked grin, looking down at Les and back to Jack with a desperate look to his eyes. Jack laughed, picking up Les and swinging him around until he could tuck the boy under one arm, handling him roughly.

“Sure thing, Davey,” Crutchie giggled as he watched Jack.

Jack continued to roughhouse with Les during the walk, hoping to burn off some of the kid’s steam. When they arrived at Jacobi’s, Les was still pretty wired, but he seemed much more content to settle for dinner than he may have been otherwise. Crutchie watched quietly as Davey and Jack placed their orders, and went with them to a quiet table where they were shortly joined by some other boys.

“Ain’tcha eating, Crutch?” Davey’s head tilted slightly to the side as he asked the question, and he caught Jack wince at the question.

“Nah, the stuff they’s gots here is a little too much for me right now,” Crutchie shrugged. “I ain’t eaten much since I’se locked up. Gotta be careful about reintroducin’ food to the system; I’se just gonna some leftover bread at the lodge later.”

“Oh,” Davey said, frowning. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know-”

“You’se all good, Dave. Don’t worry ’bout it.”

Davey didn’t look convinced but nodded anyway as Jack’s eyebrows furrowed in Crutchie’s direction.

“We can split my sandwich if ya want? You should still eat somethin’.”

Jack tore his ham and cheese sandwich in half, placing half of it in front of Crutchie, who looked down at it with a twisted frown.

“I said I’se gonna eat at the lodge, Jack.”

“Come on, Crutch. For me?”

For a moment, Crutchie opened his mouth like he was going to fight back. Davey watched, concerned, as his fire snuffed out suddenly.

“Fine,” Crutchie huffed, his mind reminding him to pick his battles, though he wound up spending more time dissecting the cheese than he did eating the sandwich. After some twenty minutes, he pushed himself out of his seat tiredly.

“I’se gonna go back to the lodge,” he mumbled, wrapping the sandwich in wax paper before anyone said anything.

“I’ll walk with ya,” Jack said, moving to stand as well.

“Nah, you stay here and hang out with the boys.”

“No, it’s okay, I’ll-”

“ _Jack_. I’ll see you later, okay?”

Crutchie sounded exhausted, and Jack wilted back into his seat, watching sadly as Crutchie left. Davey stilled, then sighed.

“Hey, Les, why don’tcha go check in with Smalls, hm?”

Les hesitated, glancing at Jack and then back to Davey, who nodded gently and left.

“What’s that all about?”

“He’s mad at me,” Jack grumbled, staring down at his sandwich. “Says I keep pushin’.”

“Well, do you?”

“It’s not like-”

“Heya, boys.”

Startled, Jack looked up from his sandwich to see Katherine standing with her hands on her hips, smiling down at them. As she took in the looks on Jack and Davey’s faces, her smile fell, and her hands fell to her sides.

“Am I interrupting something?” She asked, looking embarrassed.

Davey looked to Jack, who shook off his dismay.

“Nah, take a seat,” Jack said, patting the chair next to him.

Katherine did quickly and then spoke, trying to clear the tense air.

“So, how’s the first day back been?”

“It’s good,” Davey told her. “Everyone’s been eating up that headline.”

“Well, it’s by yours truly!” Katherine accented the comment by playfully flipping her hair, earning a laugh from Davey, but Jack remained silent. Katherine looked to him, her smirk disappearing.

“What’s wrong? You’re awfully quiet.”

Jack shrugged his shoulders, insisting he was just tired, but Katherine was having none of it.

“And now you’re lying! Come on, Jack. You just won the biggest war of your life, and I was by your side the whole time. I still am, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah, I do.”

“Good, now tell me what’s wrong.”

Jack sighed, letting his shoulders slump.

“I’m just… worried about Crutchie, is all.”

“Is he not doing well?”

“No, no, he is. That’s the problem.”

Katherine and Davey shared a confused look across the table.

“I’m… not sure I follow,” Davey admitted.

“It just- it ain’t normal for kids to come outta the Refuge like that. Hell, Race didn’t talk for like a week when we’s first got him back. I cried like a baby all the first day I’se back.”

“Well, maybe it wasn’t that bad?” Katherine offered.

Jack scoffed, “You seen him? The kids beat to hell, he’s just pretending he ain’t. I don’t know why he won’t talk to me about it. We’s supposed to be a family.”

“You are a family. Just… give him time,” Katherine insisted, patting Jack’s shoulder. “He’ll talk about it when he’s ready. You can’t force him.”

“I know, I just… I wanna help him.”

Katherine nodded sadly, and Davey reached out to take Jack’s hand.

“We will. I promise.”

///

After saying goodbye to Katherine for the night, the newsboys made their way back to the lodging house. It wasn’t all too late out, so Davey conceded to playing a round of cards with the boys before he and Les headed back home for the night. A large majority of the boys had headed to bed, so the card circle was relatively small; just Davey, Jack, Race, and Specs. Les sat by, not quite adept at playing cards but perfectly content to watch and join the conversation, but he was growing increasingly fidgety.

“Hey,” he blurted, startling the boys. “What’s so bad ’bout the Refuge, anyways? I know Snyder’s a jerk an’ everything, but you-”

“Les!” Davey hushed his brother quickly, clamping a hand over his mouth as a look of shock flashed onto the faces of both Race and Jack.

In a snap, their demeanors had shifted. Jack’s eyes looked haunted and flickered around the room quickly, landing on Race and carefully watching his reaction, clearly thinking the question over and trying to figure out what to say. Race, however, looked terrified. His shoulders tensed, and he was staring into a middle distance with his eyes blown wide. Neither of them had been anticipating the question and were now drowning in a flood of unwanted memories. Race seemed to be taking it worse- his hands clamping down on the cards in his grip, his skin paling. He threw them to the table abruptly, pushing back his chair in the same instant.

“I’m gonna go for a smoke,” he said quickly, reaching to his front pocket and bringing his cigar to his lips shakily. “I’ll be back in a few.”

“Race,” Jack tried, but the boy was already crossing the room. Jack frowned, standing less suddenly but still intently. “I’m gonna go check on ’im.”

It was silent as they watched Jack leave, and Davey looked on with a distant, sad understanding. Specs crossed his arms, looking tired. Les looked more confused than anything.

“They didn’t answer the question,” he mumbled, kicking at the floor absently, his hands fidgety and tight at his sides.

“Snyder’s a bad guy. He hurts kids,” Spec said, setting down his cards. “He’s gone now, but that don’t mean he didn’t hurt ’em still.”

“But I don’t understand-”

“You don’t gotta understand,” Davey explained.

“We’s just gotta be kind and understandin’. It’s a bad place. That’s all you need to know, okay?”

Les pouted, looking unsatisfied, but nodded anyway.

“Good. Now, we should be getting home. Let’s go, Les.”

///

“You’se gonna be alright?”

Race was sitting in the alley to the right of the lodging house, leaning up against the damp brick and struggling to get a spark off his lighter in the cold air, when Jack came out. Race was staring at his hands, which quivered (not from the chill), and he laughed.

“Hell no,” Race said. “But ya knew that. You?”

“Nah.”

Jack grunted as he lowered himself to the ground, his body exhausted from the long day. He closed his eyes, and he leaned back, listing as Race took a long drag off his cigar. The smell of smoke used to bother Jack (used to remind him of his father), but it didn’t anymore. Now, the haze in their air and the soft, barely present, heat brought him a second-hand comfort as he felt Race’s shaking slow.

“Though you’se gonna quit smokin’, Race? That’s what Spot’s been sayin’.”

“Eh,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders. “Old habits die hard, I guess. Spot wants me too, and I’se tryin’. Sometimes… sometimes, I just need it.”

“Yeah, I gets ya.”

A silence fell over them for a moment while Jack thought back on nights he got so drunk Crutchie had to keep him from falling off the rooftop. He tried to drown his nightmare sometimes too, and he was ashamed of it.

“...I know the bastards in jail,” Race said suddenly, sounding frustrated. “My brain knows that. But he's been after us so long- it’s hard not to be ‘fraida him. I keep lookin’ over my shoulder, waitin’ for him to strike, ‘specially after seein’ what he did to Crutch.”

Jack nodded, watching Race’s grip on his cigar tighten; the burning end was growing closer to Race’s fingers in a way that had to hurt at least a little.

“I don’t get it,” Race continued, seemingly unbothered by the fire. “I don’t get a lick of it. I’se in there shorter than him, and he walked out lookin’ ten times worse than either ‘a us. Yet, he’s fine! When the hell’d he get so strong?”

Race’s voice cracked, and Jack stole the cigar from his fingers, putting it out on the stone beneath them. Race frowned, seeming more insecure than Jack had ever seen him.

“W-what’s he doin’ that we ain’t? How’s he not breakin’ apart?”

“I dunno, Race.”

“That’s not helpful.”

“He’s always been stronger than we give ’im credit for, but I can’t imagine he ain’t hurtin’. I know he is. I don’t get why he won’t talk ’bout it.”

“I dunno, either.”

They were quiet after that, looking at the sky and listening to the sounds of the night. Their heads rested on the brick of the lodging-house, and the moon lit their faces, the stench of smoke dying out as it dispersed into the clouds.

///


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crutchie visits a friend. Jack gets in a fist fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: References to child abuse and ableism, including ableist language. There are also mentions made of blood and vomit. If such things are triggering to you, proceed with caution!

Bruises get worse before they get better; logically, this was something Davey knew.

But still, looking at Crutchie’s face which, the day prior, had only had small scraps and reddish-purple bruises now being painted shades of black and green more than it was his real skin tone? That sight terrified him. 

He felt something move in his chest, like a surge of protectiveness that he had only really felt for his brother, Les, before. He wasn’t sure he liked it. All he knew was that, as soon as he saw Crutchie in the lodge that morning, he was taking Les on a trip to get ice for the bruises on Crutchie’s face.

Crutchie’s right eye was completely swollen shut, and his left wasn’t faring much better. His leg was stiff, his breathing was ragged, and he most definitely had broken ribs he had hidden the day before. His arms felt weak, and his stomach was churning. On top of all of that, he had a fever too.

Davey had never seen someone look so sick.

Needless to say, no one was even entertaining the idea of Crutchie selling papers that day, and he conceded. He nodded, and then a look of nausea and pain washed over his face from the way his brain seemed to slosh around within his skull. Jack offered to stay at the lodge with him, but Crutchie refused.

“No point in winnin’ a strike if you ain’t gonna reap the rewards,” Crutchie mumbled, grinning falsely. The smile looked out of place on his swollen features, even more lopsided than it would typically be.

Jack stared down at him for a long moment, looking distressed. Crutchie shifted under his gaze, uncomfortable.

“I’ll stay here with him,” Davey said. “I’m not gonna take no for an answer. Les will sell enough papes for the both of us, so don’t worry about it, okay? You’re sick. Let us take care of you.”

Crutchie rolled his eyes.

“I can take perfectly good care ‘a myself, ‘specially if I ain’t leavin’ bed all day. I don’t need a nanny- I ain’t gonna die if one of ya isn’t here to watch me. You’re all bein’ ridiculous about all of this, I’m-”

“We’re being ridiculous?” Jack interjected, his voice louder than necessary. “You’re being ridiculous! Why won’t you just let us help you?”

“Cause I’m fine, Jack! I don’t need anything! I’m fine, look!”

Crutchie, overtaken by a surge of frustration, dropped the ice to the ground and pushed himself up as Davey scrambled to catch the bag. Crutchie grabbed his vest and then shoved on his shoes, getting dressed incredibly fast considering his physical state, though his face could not hide the pain he was experiencing.

“Kid, please-”

“Stop callin’ me that! I ain’t a kid!” He grabbed his hat, shoving it on his head as he spoke. “I’m just as capable as you is, no matter what. I’m just dinged up, is all. Ya keep treating me like- like busted goods, or something.”

“We aren’t treating you like-” Davey started to say, but Crutchie interrupted. 

“Ain’t I the judge of that?”

Crutchie wasn’t smiling anymore. Davey had never seen him so angry. Somehow, his brows furrowed more when he saw Jack grab his crutch from where it was leaning against the wall.

“You ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

“The hell you gonna do to stop me? _Beat me_ with it?”

Jack froze when Crutchie said that, a look of hurt flashing across his face, which gave Crutchie the perfect opportunity to snatch his aid out from under Jack’s arm. He took off towards the door, not looking back. Davey stood, but he didn’t move to stop him.

“Wait, Crutch-”

“Don’t you _dare_ fuckin’ follow me. I’ll be back later.”

And with that, he was out the door, slamming it behind him.

///

Crutchie was just so, _so_ goddamn tired. He couldn’t deal with the looks of pity he kept getting-- from his friends or otherwise. He was so miserable; he almost wished he was back in Refuge, Synder looming nearby with a weapon. Synder could beat him, but that didn’t hurt like this did. It didn’t feel like a _betrayal_. 

Despite his pain, he pushed himself forward, making the long track to Brooklyn and ignoring the looks of concern that kept coming his way from strangers, each glance making his grip on his aid tighten. What the hell did they care? None of them stood up for him before his whole life went to hell, so why were they acting like they cared now?

They weren’t hiding their disgust, either. For every two looks of pity, someone whispered about him being a filthy, disease-ridden rat: a disgrace to the beautiful streets of New York. They spoke as though he could not hear them, which, of course, he could.

He didn’t speak a word back to them. He didn’t have the energy-- not to fight with strangers anymore, or his friends. He could not stay in the lodging house under the watchful eyes of Davey and Jack, or Race, or Specs- any of them. He just couldn’t.

The air in Brooklyn tasted different. The people here didn’t whisper about him with a hand over their mouth; no, they spat at him and hissed whole-heartedly. At least they were not pretending to be anything they weren’t. Crutchie could give them credit for that.

He was walking down the sidewalk quietly when Spot Conlon appeared in front of him, silent, arms crossed in front of his chest. He was exuding confidence, like he always did.

“You’se gonna ask me what I’m doin’ in your borough?”

Crutchie half attempted a joke, and Spot smiled, letting his arms fall a little bit so he looked less tense. He seemed happy to see Crutchie in some respect.

“I don’t ask questions I know the answer to. Jackie boy’s smothering ya.”

“All of ’em is.”

Spot scoffed softly. 

“Yeah, tell me ’bout it,” Crutchie said, shrugging lightly and grimacing at the pain that sparked from the movement. 

“Come on; I know somewhere quiet.”

“You ain’t busy?”

“Nah. Consider my afternoon cleared; York’ll take care ‘a things. I’se expecting you about now, honestly.”

Crutchie laughed softly, rubbing the crook of his elbow awkwardly. Then, they took off through the city. Crutchie had to fight to keep pace with Spot, and he was thankful that Spot respected him enough to act normally. Several Brooklyn newsies stopped Spot as they made their track, checking in with him as he let them know York was in charge for the rest of the night. They nodded, excited to have Spot address them at all. 

The walk was peaceful, and Crutchie was quiet for the majority of it, his leg slowly bothering him less as they progressed and he stretched it out of its cramp. Eventually, the two came upon a tattered looking apartment building on the far side of town.

“Come on,” Spot said, approaching the door and pulling it open. “I’se gots a room on the second floor.”

Spot led him inside and up a stairwell, not bothering to offer Crutchie help with the stairs. Spot beat him to the top and watched him hop up nonjudgmentally. When Crutchie reached the second level, only a little winded, Spot spun on his heel and marched down the hall, popping open the third doorway on the right. 

“This your place?” Crutchie asked as he made his way in, taking in the messy sofa, and the twin bed pushed against the wall opposite. The room was mostly undecorated, and it seemed rundown and roach-ridden. Thin looking blankets were strewn on the bed, and small piles of clothes and dirty dishes scattered the floor.

“Kinda,” Spot responded, shrugging. “It was empty; I started takin’ it. I think they’s scared ‘a me, so they’s not sayin’ anything.”

“Scared ‘a you?”

“My reputation precedes me,” Spot joked, and Crutchie laughed. “Here, sit.”

Spot plopped down on the sofa, patting the seat next to him, which Crutchie took, leaning his aid on the wall next to it. Exhausted, he pulled his legs up onto the sofa, curling in on himself. Spot reached over and patted his shoulder, smiling at Crutchie weakly.

“I ain’t gonna ask if you’se okay, I know you ain’t. You tell me when you’re ready, okay?”

Crutchie felt a breath he wasn’t even aware of holding in shutter out of his lungs, and he nodded, noticing a few stray tears streaming down his face. He cried quietly, his eyes closing tightly, and Spot moved closer, wrapping his arms around Crutchie as he sobbed.

Crutchie didn’t realize it, but soon he was falling asleep.

///

“You aren’t even trying, are you?”

Jack was standing at his usual selling spot, a paper held limply above his head and a hefty stack left at his feet. He looked over to Davey pathetically as he approached. Upon seeing Davey, who has already sold most of his papers, Jack's posture worsened, his shoulders slumping forward horribly. He reached down, snatching up his papers and retreating from the corner, moving to where he and Davey could speak and be less in the way.

“No, no, I ain’t. Where’s Les?”

“He’s off sellin’ with Romeo. Figured he didn’t need to be around for this conversation.”

“There’s no conversation to be had, Davey. I gotta suck it up and get over it. Crutchie don’t wanna talk-- he don’t wanna talk to me. I’se just-”

“That’s not what I was gonna ask, Jack.”

He seemed taken aback by that, his eyebrow cocking upwards.

“Oh? Then what is it, Davey?”

“You still have nightmares, don’t you? About the Refuge?”

Jack tensed visibly, his shoulders drawing up and in, his mouth twisting into a frown. He seemed to shrink, his age diminishing as he pulled inward. He no longer looked like _strike leader Jack Kelly_ \-- no, now he looked like a seventeen-year-old kid. Which he was. 

“W-why are you askin’?”

“You ever considered you aren’t as over it as you act like you are? You and Race both, for that matter. Last night you scared the hell outta Les and me. We don’t know what you went through, but we can see how much you’re still hurting.”

“So what? It ain’t somethin’ that disappears. I’m good as I need to be.”

“You ever try talkin’ about it?”

“Sure. Me an’ Race talk about it. We’s the ones that been through it, after all.”

“Anyone else?”

“Crutchie, sometimes. He was there for me when I first got out; he knows most’ a what happened to me in there. He’s… caught me in some of the worst of my nightmares. Race talks to Spot if he don’t wanna talk to me, so it’s okay.”

Davey nodded, his face one of thinking as he listened to Jack continue speaking.

“That’s what I don’t get. If it’s hurtin’ me an’ Race all these years later, it’s gotta be buggin’ Crutchie, ‘specially with how fresh it is. I know it is; he hardly slept a wink last night. He’s sick as a dog and flinches any time anybody raises a hand, but he won’t talk to me about it! I ain’t got a clue what really went down in there. I mean, I can take a guess, but Snyder… He’s cruel, and it’s been years since I been in there with him. I don’t know what he did to Crutchie in there; he’s always rougher on kids who can’t fight back.

“I was supposed to protect Crutchie. I know-- I know he says he don’t want me too, but it feels like I’m supposed ta. I let him down. I let him get hurt, and now he won’t even talk to me about it. How am I supposed to apologize-- how the hell am I supposed to make this up to him, Davey?”

Jack’s composure started to crack, his eyes welling up, and his hands shaking. Davey’s mouth hung open, as though he were debating what to say, but eventually, he just closed it. He grabbed Jack’s hand, pulling him into a hug. 

Jack crumbled into the embrace, his whole body shaking as he tried to hold in his sobs. 

///

“Crutchie..? Goddamnit, _Crutch_! Wake up!”

Someone was shaking him, touching his bruised arms, and sloshing his brain around violently. He opened his eyes but was unable to decipher what he saw through his disorientation. He shoved the person off of him, tumbling to the floor and grunting out in pain as he tried to right himself. God, he was gonna be _sick--_

“Jesus Christ, _Charlie_ , come on. Please-”

He blinked over and over, shaking as his senses settled. He was able to see what was in front of him: Spot Conlon, hunched on the ground, eyes wide and teeth clenched, covered in vomit that didn’t seem to be his own.

“Crutch? You with me, Crutch?”

Spot seemed unbothered by the throwup, wiping his hands on his shirt and reaching out to cup Crutchie’s face, his eyes darting around, searching for signs of recognition. Crutchie tried to steady his breathing, nodding slightly.

“Good, good. You’se having a nightmare. A bad one.”

“S-sorry, I…”

“Shh, you don’t gotta apologize, Crutch. I’m okay. _You’re_ okay.”

Crutchie nodded, though he didn’t feel okay. He couldn’t recall what he had been dreaming about distinctly, but he didn’t have to stretch to guess what it might pertain to. He could still feel the dream; dark edges were closing in on him as his aid came down on his body over and over, cracking his spine sharply until he wasn’t sure he’d ever stand again. He could smell the debris and mold, the stench of the Refuge rushing up to-

“Hey, Crutch, stay with me,” Spot begged, moving one of his hands to Crutchie’s shoulder and squeezing tightly.

“Okay, okay,” Crutchie mumbled, his throat raw. He pushed the thoughts as far out of his head as he could, trying to take in his surroundings. He saw Spot Conlon and the gap between his two front teeth, heard the sound of wind whistling against the window, and felt the softness of the carpet beneath his worn fingers. Clean air, and the feeling of home, and Spot Conlon.

“You here?”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry-”

“Crutch, it’s okay. Please, don’t apologize. You’se fine.”

Crutchie nodded, whipping his mouth on his henley sleeve tiredly. 

“You wanna get back up on the couch?”

Crutchie nodded, reaching out for help which Spot easily provided, hoisting him up and back onto the sofa. Crutchie rubbed his forehead, which throbbed painful, clearing his eyes of a thin layer of sleep.

“What time is it?”

Crutchie glanced around the room as he asked, noticing that light was not streaming through the window as it had been earlier.

“Too late to be crossin’ the bridge; you’se gonna stay here for the night. I woulda woken you up, but you looked peaceful. I left to nab dinner, and you’se screamin’ when I came back.”

“You left me here alone?”

“Yeah,” Spot said, looking flushed. “I figured you’se fine on your own. Should I… not have done that?”

“No, no,” Crutchie laughed softly. “It’s fine, it’s just… Jack’d have your head.”

“Yeah, well, when the hell have I ever cared what Jack Kelly thinks, huh?”

“Never.”

“Damn right. You want part’ a this?”

Spot held out a wrapped sandwich marked BLT, and Crutchie’s stomach rumbled in response. It was then that Spot seemed to remember that his shirt was coated in sick. He peeled it off, tossing it into the trash and slipping on a long sleeve shirt he found in one of the many piles on the floor. He washed his hands before returning to the sofa. Spot chuckled and unwrapped the sandwich, passing half of it over. He sat down next to Crutchie and dug into his half of the sandwich.

“Sorry about that, by the way,” Crutchie mumbled before taking a bite.

“I ain’t mad at ya.”

They ate quietly for a few minutes before a look of realization, and, maybe, horror dawned on Crutchie’s face.

“Did you tell Jack I’m with ya?”

“Nah, I assumed you told ’im where you’se goin’ ‘fore ya left. I can send out word first thing in the morning if ya want, but it’s too late to be sending boys out now.”

“Nah, it’s okay. I should head back over in the mornin’, anyway.”

“You don’t have ta if you don’t wanna.”

Crutchie paused for a moment before nodding.

“Maybe not,” was all he said in reply.

At that point, Spot finished his part of the BLT and moved to stand, wandering to the window and pulling back the curtain to get a clear look at the night sky. Evidently satisfied, he let the curtain fall, crossing the room and plopping down on the bed. He looked tired as he scratched at his arm absently, rubbing his aged scars.

“So, how’s the Manhattan boys doin’ since the strikes been over?”

“Eh, they’s good. They’s selling papes like they thought they’s never gonna again. It’s nice, seein’ everyone cheery again. What about your boys?”

“It’s been alright, we’s working back into what’s normal. I’m lucky no one tried to overthrow us while we’s helpin’ you out.”

“Yeah, that’d’ a been a mess. We’d ‘a helped you get your place back, though.”

Spot leaned back into the bed, taking off his hat and flopping backward.

“I appreciate that.”

“No problem,” Crutchie responded, smiling. Abruptly, Spot shot back up, looking at Crutchie with a stern face.

“Hey, you can’t tell anyone ’bout this place, by the way.”

“Oh?” Crutchie cocked an eyebrow, suddenly intrigued. “And why’s that?”

“Cause I ain’t bring nobody here; York’s the only one that knows it exists.”

“Not even Race?”

Spot’s face flushed for a second, but he shook off the embarrassment quickly and recovered, saying, “Nah, I always take ’im to my other place. This one’s private.”

“...then why’d you bring me here?”

A malevolent smile spread across Spot’s face.

“The walk’s longer.”

///

Davey sighed from his sitting position as he watched Jack practically dig a trench into the lodging house’s common area with his relentless pacing.

“He should be back by now,” Jack muttered, crossing and uncrossing his arms, pulling his hat off his head to fidget with it. He was a constant ball of energy, doing seemingly anything to try to distract himself from his fears.

“I’m sure Crutchie is _fine_ , Jack.”

Davey was tired, and he wanted to go home (where he had sent Les several hours prior), but he knew he couldn’t leave Jack in this state. Katherine appeared to have the same idea, which is how she found herself in the lodge verging on eleven o’clock at night, trying to console Jack.

“He’s smart,” Katherine continued. “He’s practically an adult. He’s smart enough to find somewhere to spend the night; it’s not like he’s out on the street or something-”

“But what if he is? Or- or he could’ a gotten thrown back in the Refuge, or-”

“The Refuge is _closed_ ,” Davey interjected. “You know that. He ain’t there.”

“Snyder could’a gotten outta jail. We- we need to go look for Crutchie. We need to.”

“Jack, come on-”

“I ain’t taking no for an answer,” he snapped, looking at Davey and Katherine with his face set in stone. “You can come with me, or I can go alone, but, either way, I’m goin’.”

“Jack, it’s late,” Katherine started, approaching him and reaching out to put an arm on his shoulder. “We’d only be putting ourselves in danger. I’m sure he’s fine, and he’ll turn up in the morning, and-”

“I’m not abandoning him again!” Jack jerked away from Katherine’s touch, almost baring his teeth. He grabbed a jacket which was hanging from a bedpost and slung it over himself, heading towards the door. “I’m gonna find Crutchie.”

Jack threw the door open, letting it slam shut behind him, at which Katherine and Davey shared a look and then followed him out. They chased Jack down the street, but he was running fast, calling Crutchie’s name. They only caught up to him when he paused for a moment, falling suddenly silent at having seen the first other people out on the street.

“Morris? Oscar?” 

Katherine’s voice was thin in the night air, but it caught the attention of the boys. They turned to face her, and that was when Jack took off running.

“What’d you do with Crutchie?!” He cried, tackling Morris to the ground. He was throwing punches before he’d thought about what he was doing, slamming down his fist until Morris was spitting blood onto the concrete. Oscar shoved Jack off of his brother, kicking into Jack’s side as Morris pushed himself up.

“I don’t know what the hell you’se talking about, but we didn’t do anything to your crip!” 

Oscar was shouting, saliva flying from his lips and down to Jack’s face. Jack clenched his teeth, bringing his leg up and swooping one of Oscar’s legs out from under him. Oscar hit the ground with a shout, and Jack rolled to the side, avoiding getting crushed. As Jack hopped up, Morris squared his shoulders and brought up his fists, quickly landing a blow into Jack’s jaw with a sickening crack.

Katherine screamed at them to stop, and Davey felt his heart sink down into his stomach as he watched Morris land another attack, knocking Jack to the ground. At that point, Oscar was back up, joining his brother in towering over the now felled Jack. Davey charged in, putting himself between Jack and the Delancey brothers.

“Please, he didn’t-”

Oscar had Davey by the front of his shirt before he could even finish a sentence. He slammed Davey into the wall of a nearby storefront, pushing him roughly.

“Please,” Davey continued to beg. “He’s just- he’s just worried about Crutchie. Let us go!”

Davey looked past Oscar, seeing Morris haul Jack up from the ground. Jack was coughing violently, his teeth red. Morris was drawing his fist back again, but Katherine swooped in and knocked Morris backward, causing him to lose his grip on Jack, who crumbled back to the ground. Morris looked Katherine over as she stood protectively in front of Jack, raising her hands in front of her defensively. Morris stared for a long moment, then called out.

“Oscar, let’s get outta here.”

“What? And just let these punks get away with breakin’ your nose?”

“Oscar.”

The two brothers looked at one another, and Oscar shoved Davey backward. His head hit the wall unpleasantly, but Oscar let him go, so he was not about to complain.

“If you try this shit again, Kelly, I’ll kill you,” Oscar growled as he joined Morris.

“We didn’t touch your friend,” Morris grumbled. “Not this time, at least.”

“And if I don’t believe you?” Jack asked half-threateningly as Katherine helped him back up. He moved to square up again, but Katherine slugged his shoulder, and he deflated. Neither of the Delancey brothers responded; they just sneered, and then they walked off, disappearing into the night.

“What the hell were you thinking, Jack?” 

Katherine fretted over his bruising face as she spoke, berating his stupidity. Jack’s lip was torn and bleeding, and an extended cut traced his forehead.

“They could’ve-”

“Stop. Just- just _stop_ , Jack.”

Davey walked away from the wall he had been pushed against, one hand absently checking the back of his skull for blood. His wound was leaking, but not terribly, so he dismissed it.

“We’re going back to the lodge.”

“But Crutchie is still-”

“We might’ve entertained searching for him before, but now that you’ve gotten yourself _injured_ , we’re going back. No if’s, and’s, or but’s about it, Jack.”

Jack frowned, but Katherine grabbed his hand, pulling him back toward the lodging house. He gave in, seeming to slump in on himself. He rubbed a hand over his face, clearing blood off the underside of his nose.

The trio walked back into the lodging house in tense silence. The room was still, as the majority of the newsboys had already gone to bed. Hence, the gentle drip of Jack’s blood cascading down to the floor was stunningly audible. 

Jack stumbled to a nearby chair and collapsed into it, resting his aching head in his hands. Davey sighed, sitting down at the same time as Katherine in chairs adjacent.

“He’s out there, and the poor kid is probably _scared_ and _hurt_ and-”

“Crutchie isn’t a kid, Jack,” Davey interrupted. “He’s the same age as us. And he’ll be fine, but _you_ aren’t gonna be if you keep picking fights like this.”

“How the hell can you be so certain?”

“We have faith in him, Jack,” Katherine explained. “He survived the Refuge. He can survive one night on his own.”

“I didn’t- it’s not that I don’t think he can! I just- I worry about him.”

“He doesn’t want you to, though.”

Jack looked up to Katherine, looking annoyed.

“You don’t know him like I do. I have ta worry about him-- he’s my best friend! When he gets hurt, that’s on me! Cause I didn’t protect him!”

“Is it his responsibility to protect you like that?”

Jack glared at Davey.

“No, ‘course not. I’m fine on my own.”

“You’re a hypocrite; that’s what you are, Jack Kelly.”

Though Katherine’s tone was halfway playful, Jack crossed his arms and stood abruptly.

“I don’t have to take this! Go home, worry about your own families! I’ll take care ‘a mine, and you two can scram.”

“Jack, you’re being-”

“I’m not being anythin’ but what I’m supposed to be! I protect the boys here, ‘specially the ones who can’t take care of themselves. I’m the leader of Manhattan, for Christ's sake!”

“But you’re Crutchie’s friend first! Before you are anything else, you’re supposed to be his friend! And that means respecting him enough to know he can defend himself! _That’s all he wants from you!”_

Davey’s arms were thrown out in front of him as he looked at Jack desperately, Katherine nodding her head as Davey spoke. His words hung in the air thickly, and Jack stared at him, looking hurt and, foremost, furious. 

“Out!” Jack yelled, shattering the tension and pointing towards the door. “Get outta here! You don’t know anything!”

“Jack, please-” Katherine pleaded, but he ignored her, moving to shove them out the door.

“I said out! I know how to take care of my best friend!”

///

“So, what’re ya gonna do, Crutch?”

Crutchie was lying flat on Spot’s bed, their heads next to each other. They were twisted somewhat awkwardly, barely able to squeeze both of their teenage bodies on the twin-sized mattress, but making it work. Crutchie stared into the ceiling, rubbing his forehead. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t aching. It was almost easier to ignore the pain when attention was not being drawn to it, and he was not being forced to try to ignore it.

“I dunno, Spot.”

“That’s not a good plan,” Spot responded, rolling over to face Crutchie.

“I know, I just… I appreciate that they care, I do, it just…”

Crutchie shrugged helplessly, and Spot sighed.

“It feels like they ain’t carin’ for the right reason,” Crutchie settled on eventually, a heavy breath flowing out of his lungs in an exhausted heave. “I don’t want ’em to care cause they failed me, ’cause that’s dumb. And I don’t want ’em to care ’cause they think I can’t stand up for myself. I can; I just got hurt. That happens. It don’t gotta mean anything.”

“It means somethin’, though. You can’t ignore it like you is. That’s what’s makin’ those nightmares so bad. You gotta talk to someone.”

“I know, I know,” Crutchie conceded. “I just… I can’t find the middle ground.”

“That shouldn’t be up to you,” Spot responded, and Crutchie felt like he was punched in the gut. Spot continued, “You should be able ‘ta talk without feelin’ like you’se givin’ up the respect you worked your ass off to earn.”

“Then what do you suggest?”

Crutchie’s voice quivered in the air, hanging.

“You gotta talk to Jack. Else you’se gonna lose what you’se got with ’im. I don’t think that’d crush _you_ , but it might just crush _him_.”

Crutchie worried his teeth over his bottom lip before releasing it, a slight huff coming out of his nose at the same time. He ruminated for a moment before nodding his head.

“Thanks, Spot.”

“No problem, Crutch,” Spot said, smiling. He twisted his body to the side, pulling one of the thin blankets off of the floor onto his form. “Go to bed. We’s got a whole world to conquer tomorrow. Can’t do it on zero hours ‘a sleep, now can we?”

“Nah, we can’t,” Crutchie mumbled, feeling tiredness crept in. He shifted his body, relieving pressure from his bad leg, and left the darkness wash over him.

///

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again!! Just wanted to thank you, again, for reading! I'm not the most experienced with writing fight scenes, so I hope this one turned out good! Kudos and comments are always appreciated!
> 
> Follow me on tumblr @pipasa!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four boys get into an argument.

Crutchie got up bright and early the next morning, rising before the sun and feeling well-rested for the first time in weeks. Despite his skin still looking more like a patchwork quilt than human skin with its bruises pattern, he found his pain was starting to quell. Sure, he was still achy, but the wounds began to distract him less, and he was willing to consider anything an improvement. He sat up, stretching out his limbs experimentally as he watched Spot fasten his suspenders across the room.

"You'se up early," Crutchie mumbled absently, reaching down to rub his bad ankle wearily. 

"Places to be," Spot replied, shrugging as he sat on the sofa and began to lace up his boots. "Can I walk with ya back to Manhattan this mornin'?"

"You goin' cause I need an escort or cause you wanna see Race?"

Spot's cheeks grew red, and he focused intently on forming the rabbit ears of his laces. Crutchie snickered to himself, hopping out of bed and moving across the room to get his aid.

"Course you can walk with me, Spot," Crutchie said more seriously, a kind smile on his face. Spot nodded, standing from the sofa.

"Well, then let's get goin'!"

///

The walk to Manhattan was quiet and peaceful, primarily due to Spot and Crutchie being up and moving before the majority of the world had even opened its eyes. They made it to the Manhattan lodging house before the majority of the newsboys had departed. As a swarm of boys made their way out of the lodge, Crutchie made his way in-- only to be greeted by a horrifying sight.

"Jack? The hell happened to ya?"

It was Spot who asked aloud, not Crutchie, but they shared the same look of distress upon seeing Jack's face. A fresh wound marred the surface of his forehead, and his upper lip was puffy and red. His nose sported a bruise, and his movements were stiff, stilted even with the surprising speed with which he turned to face Spot and Crutchie.

"Oh, thank god, Crutch! You'se back!"

Jack rushed at Crutchie, his arms outspread, but Crutchie took a step to the side, dodging the embrace.

"No, no hug, Jack- what the hell happened to your face?"

"That doesn't matter- what matters is you'se home safe. God, Crutch, it's good to see you-"

"No. Jack, I'm bein' serious. What did you do?"

Jack's smile, full formerly at seeing Crutchie, wilted abruptly. His mouth crumbled into a twisted line, his brows falling. For a second, he seemed sad but then became angry.

"I went out tryna find you since you didn't bother showin' up last night. What the hell was I supposed to think, Crutch-"

"What-"

"Who did you fight?" Spot interrupted suddenly, stepping forward. 

"It doesn't concern you, Spot." Jack responded, spitting Spot's name out of his mouth harshly.

"Hey, he's just-" Crutchie started, but was cut off by Jack.

"The hell are you doin' here anyway, Spot?"

"I'se just droppin' by to see how the 'Hattan boys doin' since the strike was settled. See if you stepped back up after  _ abandonin'  _ them in the middle of it-"

"Don't you fuckin-"

"Jesus! Stop!"

And there was Davey at the door, always the voice of reason, crying at the top of his lungs. Spot, Jack, and Crutchie fell silent immediately, and Davey took his fingers. working them over the arched bridge of his nose with exasperation and exhaustion. 

"... where's Les?"

"I sent him with Romeo again," Davey said to Crutchie, sounding frustrated. "I could hear the screaming match from outside. I don't want you guys scaring my little brother."

"Sorry, Dave-"

"Stop, please," Davey cut off Jack, putting his hands on his hips. "Now, we's gonna go work this out on the rooftop, so I don't have to listen to you fight anymore. Understood?"

Jack stared down at the ground, and Spot crossed his arms, but they both nodded at the same time as Crutchie did. Awkwardly, they followed Davey out of the lodge and out to the fire escape. Spot started up the ladder first, and Jack was set to go behind him, but, instead, he turned to Crutchie, eyes filled with concern.

"Do you need me to-"

"Jesus fuckin' Christ, Kelly! Take a hint for  _ once  _ and-"

"Enough!" Davey shouted.

"I'm fine, Jack." Crutchie bit out, his jaw tense.

Jack frowned, but turned back to the ladder and made his way up. Crutchie offered his aid to Davey, and they made their way up following the other two. The creak of the ladder under their combined weight was a jarring sound in the sickening silence hanging over them, all riff with tension. When they reached the rooftop, Davey moved a few spare crates into a square formation so they could all sit and look at each other. The scrape of the wood across the ground was almost haunting. 

They sat for a long time, each boy fidgeting absently as none of them knew what to say. They could hear the world starting to awaken further, progressing with the movements of people outside, and distant noises of the trolley. The morning bell rang out, causing Davey to sigh. His hands still, his gaze drifting upwards from his shaking hands to glance around at the other three boys.

"So, who wants to go first?" Davey prompted, looking uncomfortable despite being the one to initiate the conversation. When no one responded, he sighed again, this time more annoyed than resigned. "Fine. I'll go then.

"Look, I know I'm… well, I'm still learning the ropes of being a newsie, but I know this isn't how you're supposed to be treating each other. Constant screaming matches, getting in fights unprompted," Davey said, glaring at Jack and then turning to Crutchie to say, "Disappearing for a whole night."

"He knew where I was!" Crutchie protested, but Davey didn't acknowledge him.

"This whole thing is getting ridiculous. You two are supposed to be best friends. You need to communicate with each other."

"I  _ tried _ ," Crutchie responded, sounding exhausted. "I tried to get him to just- just let me do what I needed to do. I'se don't want anyone tellin' me what to do, and I don't want anyone treatin' me differently just cause I'se got locked up in the Refuge. I'se fine-"

"But you ain't," Jack interjected, causing Crutchie to grit his teeth. "You ain't fine, and you won't let us help. You'se hurt-"

"At least I didn't get myself hurt in some stupid fight over nothin'-"

"Stop," Spot interrupted. "Stop bickerin’. This is dumb."

After a long moment, Crutchie continued.

"I know you mean well, Jack, I do. You  _ always  _ mean well. But I can take care'a myself," he said, eyes suddenly glassy. "I thought you believed that. I thought I'd come back, and some others might treat me different, but I didn't think you would, and-"

"Crutchie-"

"Let him talk, Jack," Davey said calmly. Jack swallowed thickly but stayed silent.

"I-I don't want to be treated differently," Crutchie said, the tears in his eyes seeming to disappear as his eyes hardened into a look of anger. "I want bein' different to be on my own terms; ain't nobody's right to decide if I am or not but mine. I wanna talk about what happened to me when I wants to, not cause I have to. They's my feelings-- it's my hurt, and I should get to choose when to talk about it. I need- I need to deal with it how I wanna. It's my life; no one should be makin' my decisions for me. I'm gonna be an adult soon, for Christ's sake. I need ta be treated like one."

Jack swallowed again, eyes fixated on the flexing of his hand in and out of a fist as he thought on Crutchie's words. Before he knew it, all eyes were on him. He looked up, blushing slightly.

"I didn't… It's not that I don't think you can take care of yourself," Jack said desperately. "I just- I wanna help you, cause I care about you. And I failed you, and-"

"You didn't  _ fail  _ me, Jack, you-"

"Let 'im talk," Spot said, placing a hand on Crutchie's knee. Crutchie nodded and fell silent.

Jack let the quiet engulf him for a long moment, almost wishing it would swallow him so he could leave the conversation. His cheeks were burning, and his eyes were glued to the roof's surface as he continued speaking.

"I let down everyone in the strike, not just you. I-I  _ abandoned  _ everyone, and I let you get hurt cause I'se scared-- I can't deal with that. Everyone's lookin' to me to be the leader again, but I don't deserve it. I was a coward. I can't let you down like that again. I ain't gonna let  _ anyone  _ down again, no matter what it costs me. I need to step up 'nd be the guy people need me to be."

"Jack?"

Jack's head shot up, startled at Spot's addressing him. Spot's voice was perhaps the most genuine Jack had ever heard it.

"Lemme... lemme gives you a word of-of advice," Spot said, stammering slightly. He looked a little uncomfortable but settled into his usual confidence quickly. "From one borough leader to another, yeah? They don't put ya in charge if they don't trust you. You fucked up, yeah, but they trust you to be better. But they also trust you to be you."

"I don't understand-"

"I'm not the leader of Brooklynn cause I'm tough, Jack. All the Brooklynn boys got that. I'm the leader cause the boys there know what to expect from me, and they trust me to do what's best for 'em. Watchin' 'em like a hawk ain't what's best-- given' them leeway, but watchin' their backs? That's what they need. And that's what the 'Hatten boy's need too. They don't need ya takin' bullets for them, or nursing wounds they wanna take care'a themselves. They just need your support."

Jack stared at Spot, a look of bafflement plain on his face.

"I know, I'se smarter than you thought," Spot scoffed, trying to lighten the mood. "I get it a lot. You don't gotta say it."

Jack laughed half-heartedly, nodding.

"Yeah," he spoke. "I just… It's hard to balance. I wanna protect them-- I wanna protect you," he made eye contact with Crutchie, "but I get so caught up in what I  _ think  _ I'm supposed to be doin', I don't pay attention to what you want. And that's… that's all on me to fix, ain't it?"

"Nah," Crutchie sighed. "I need to work on it too. I need to accept some help, I just… I get defensive. I don't mean ta, but I do. I don't wanna need help, but I sometimes do. It's…"

"There's a balance to be found," Davey supplied, looking oddly relieved. "And you can find it, so long as you continue to talk about this stuff. It's not one and done; you gotta keep being honest. Over and over."

"I hate when you call me kid," Crutchie said suddenly, his eyes widening almost like he did not mean to say it aloud. His cheeks flushed, and his eyes flickered around for a moment before he settled, then continued. "I know you don't mean any harm by it, but I ain't a kid, and I don't wanna be called one."

"Then I'll stop," Jack conceded, surprisingly calmly. "Anything-  _ anything  _ you need me to do, I'll do my damndest to do it for you."

"Sometimes you don't gotta do anything for me," Crutchie responded, looking at Jack seriously. "Sometimes I just… I want you to be my friend instead of my protector. If I need help-- hell, not even if I need it, if I  _ want  _ it, you'd be the first person I ask. But just… wait for me to need it before you offer it? I want… I need to be able to make that decision for myself.

"It's like… I don't know. It's like you've always been savin' me and just-  _ for once-- _ I wanna save myself. This is a hole I  _ know  _ I can dig myself outta. I need to do this one on my own. I need to know I'm capable. I need to prove it, for once, instead'a just sayin' it-"

"Crutch, you don't have to prove anythin', we know you can do anythin' you-"

"But I can't, really, can I? I haven't ever really done any of that shit. I always get saved before I can stand up for myself-"

"Hey, that's not true, and I know that. You beat the shit out of me with your crutch the first time we met. You can stand up for yourself plenty," Spot lightly laughed as he spoke, jabbing Crutchie with his elbow playfully.

"What?" Davey exclaimed, seeming confused.

"Uh- it's a story I'll tell ya if ya come down for cards in Brooklyn sometime; ain't important now," Spot responded, shaking his head slightly. Crutchie snickered, then let the serious mood return.

"I guess that's fair. I'se just… I don't know. I feel like I haven't done near as much as some of the other boys have for this place. I wanna… I wanna do enough."

Jack looked at Crutchie sadly, his lips twisting into a frown.

"You don't have to do  _ anything  _ to be enough," he said, reaching across the circle, taking Crutchie's hands in his and running his thumbs over his knuckles.

"The same goes for you, Jackie. You do plenty for us," Crutchie responded, squeezing Jack's hands. “It’s okay to fail sometimes. We’ll still love ya.”

Jack let out a shuddering breath, his head sagging to his chest, and his eyes falling closed. Crutchie released his hand, crossing the circle and holding Jack around the shoulders tightly, humming softly. Jack felt tears begin to cascade down his cheeks, soaking the hem of Crutchie's shirt, who stayed there, not caring about the newfound dampness. Davey came over too, enveloping Jack and Crutchie from the side, and Spot placed a hand on each of their shoulders, patting them comfortingly.

"We's gonna be okay," Crutchie mumbled in Jack's neck, his voice quivering slightly as his eyes welled. "It's just gonna take time."

///

The rest of the day passed quickly, and it was relatively uneventful. Crutchie sold his papers with ease, and his sore body was surprisingly kind to him, given its battered state and the lack of rest he was giving it. Still, when night fell and he made his way to the lodge (having recruited Specs to grab him dinner from Jacobi's so he could head straight home), Crutchie knew he was pushing himself too far. He managed to make it to the lodge, collapsing tiredly onto a bed near the door.

He laid in silence, staring up at the wood of the bunk bed above him and focusing on his breathing. It put a subtle strain on his ribs; an ache which reminded him of how much he had fought to make it here.

He heard the door creak open but figured it was another newsboy that would most likely leave him be, so he remained still as he listened to the footsteps (much sharper than a noise produced by a work boot) approach him.

"I heard you and Jack made up," Katherine stated plainly, sitting on a bed across from him. She did not say anything further, but Crutchie could feel her eyes on him. He pushed himself up slowly, looking at her with his eyes half-lidded.

"Yeah, we talked it out. But that's not why you're here, is it?"

Katherine smiled nervously, looking at Crutchie with an unreadable expression.

"Nah, you got me. Good work!"

Crutchie smiled back, working slowly on repositioning himself to a more comfortable sitting position. He bounced slightly, adjusting his leg as he asked, "So, what's up?"

Katherine stared at him intently, as though studying his every move. Crutchie shrank slightly under her watch, but when she noticed his reaction, her face flushed, casting her eyes downwards.

"Uh- sorry, habit. I'm used to observing people for my articles-- but you probably get stared at enough, don't you?"

"Uh… yeah, I do," Crutchie responded, somewhat startled by her bluntness. "So, what did you need..?"

"Look," she said, playing with her skirt absently for a moment and then meeting his eyes a little forcibly. "I know we didn't really… have much time to get to know each other before you were arrested. But, I wanted you to know that I want to be here for you, okay? I don't want to neglect my friendship with you just because I already know everyone else better. I want to support you in any way I can."

Crutchie's eyebrows shot up, clearly surprised. Her smile faltered momentarily, but then Crutchie grinned at her, and her smile returned to its full glory.

"I appreciate that, Katherine," Crutchie replied. "That's real sweet of ya. It means a lot, 'specially comin' from… ya know, an upper-class girl. I'm glad you'se here for us. All 'a us."

"Happy to be here! If you ever need anything, don't hesitate to ask." She responded, standing up from the bed and brushing off her skirt, though it was not dirty. "I really should be going- it's getting pretty late out there, and I should head home."

"You need someone to walk ya home?" Crutchie asked, half kidding and perfectly aware of the irony in his asking.

"Do you?" She responded with a snarky twist to her lips.

With that, she disappeared from Crutchie's sight. A few moments later, he heard the door creak open, and he was left alone again with his thoughts.

///

When Crutchie awoke sometime later, it was abrupt. He did not recall having dreams but awoke, gasping, as though he had been drowning in them. His body was soaked in sweat. An onslaught of memories washed over him as he sat up, sucking air into his lungs in hot gasps. He focused, furrowing his brows and working to calm himself, to even his breaths.

When he reopened his eyes, he began to take in the lodge around him. Crutchie was not sure exactly how long he had been asleep, but it seemed to have been a while. Snoozing newsies now filled the beds around him, and the windows were dark. He could hear the chirping of a cricket that had somehow made its way into the lodge in the distance, and he found it oddly comforting.

Pushing himself off the bed, which he noticed absently was not the one he usually slept in and thanked whoever typically slept here for being so kind as to leave him to it for the night, he felt an ache in his chest. He stilled, thinking the pain over-- he could tell it was not related to any of his healing wounds, so, for a moment, he could not identify its cause. Sitting on the edge of the bed in silence, listening only to the deep inhales and exhales of the sleeping room, it dawned on him.

He wanted to be held. He wanted to be wrapped in the arms of another boy, being shushed of his fears and told everything would be all right. He wanted to be comforted. He wanted…

Well, he wanted Jack.

He sighed to himself briefly at the notion, with lips pulling into a gentle smirk as he indulged himself. Glancing to the beds around him, he found Jack nowhere near the one he found himself on, and his heart swelled. Jack was listening. And now, Crutchie got to seek after him.

He pushed himself up from the bed, grabbing his aid and standing. He moved across the room quietly, roaming to where he usually slept. When Jack slept in the lodge, he usually bunked above Crutchie. Finding his usual bed unoccupied, Crutchie hooked his good foot against the bottom of it, lifting himself upwards to peer at (hopefully) Jack.

The face of the boy in the bed was not turned to Crutchie, but he could tell by the coiled blond hair it was undoubtedly  _ not  _ Jack. He was about to drop back down to the floor when the figure rolled over, rubbing its face groggily as it turned to face Crutchie with half-open lids.

"You'se lookin' for Jack?" Race asked, his voice surprisingly scratchy despite its high pitch. 

"Yeah, you seen 'im?" Crutchie whispered back, softly grinning as he caught sight of the cigar half-tucked under Race's pillow.

"He's on the rooftop," Race responded, pushing himself up on his elbows. "You want help gettin' up there?"

"Hm… Yeah, probably a good idea," Crutchie obliged, willing to acknowledge his body's soreness since Racetrack asked instead of forcing the help upon him.

"Alright. Gimme a sec, will ya?"

Crutchie hopped back to the floor, wincing slightly at the pain it brought up in his ribs when his body jolted upon landing. He figured he'd probably have to take tomorrow off after how hard he had been pushing his body. Sure, his mottled face had made selling papers a breeze, but he was starting to feel the consequences truly. He had been able to push himself through the pain by sheer determination alone, refusing to let anyone, even his best friend, treat him as a child. But now, with the argument settled, he found that losing his anger was making it a lot harder to focus on something other than the aches echoing through his body.

Race eventually crawled out of his bunk, stretching his limbs experimentally. He nodded to Crutchie as he slapped a cap on his mess of hair and started towards the door, Crutchie trailing behind him. They made their way outside, taking a short moment to stare up at the blue night sky before going to the fire ladder. Crutchie passed his aid off to Race and gripped the sides of the ladder, allowing Race to assist him in getting his foot slotted up on the first rung. Slowly, they made their way up, Crutchie hopping from bar to bar with Race positioned just below him, helping to carry his aid and support Crutchie if he lost his footing.

Jack was asleep when they made it to the top, curled up on the beat-up mattress he had dragged up there years ago. Crutchie took his aid back from Race, who glanced between Jack and Crutchie knowingly, but not saying a word.

"You all good?" He asked, looking Crutchie over as the boy sat down on one of the crates on the rooftop. "Cause if not, we could talk about it..?"

"Nah, but thank you, Race."

Race nodded and then turned, taking back to the ladder and starting down it. He disappeared briefly from Crutchie's sight before popping back up, just his face visible.

"Yeah?" Crutchie asked, somewhat unsettled.

"Goodnight," Race smiled, then mumbled under his breath, "lovebirds."

He ducked back out of sight as Crutchie scoffed, trying to ignore the slight blush he found spreading on his cheeks. He looked off at the sky for a moment, only to be alerted by the sound of Jack shifting on the mattress, waking up.

"...Crutch? Whatcha doin' up here?" Jack asked, barely awake. He rolled over haphazardly, tumbling off the mattress's side and onto the hard brick of the ceiling. He grunted, his bruises from his fight with the Delancey's the night before jostled.

"I wanted to see the stars," Crutchie responded with a shrug.

"You coulda seen those from the street."

"Yeah, maybe so. Ain't as nice, though, is it?"

Jack smiled, shaking his head no. He floundered momentarily, getting himself back onto the mattress in a sitting position and patting the space next to him.

"Sit with me?" He asked, and Crutchie obliged, taking a seat and letting his aid clatter to the rooftop's surface tiredly.

The music of the city filled their ears- the whispers of the wind and the chirping of crickets, all far off but comforting. Crutchie let his head fall to the side, resting on Jack's shoulder as they gazed out at the stars, each of them twinkling kindly in the perfect New York sky. Though Jack would say it had nothing on Santa Fe, it was still beautiful. Their breathing slowed, synchronized, and, for the first time since the strike began, the two felt truly at peace.

"Hey, Jack?" Crutchie asked, his voice cutting through the silence.

"Yeah?"

Crutchie hesitated, letting the night air flow around them again for a long moment. He listened to Jack's breathing, the repetitive pace of the beating of his heart. Crutchie sighed, closing his eyes.

"When I was in the Refuge…"  
  
///

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's gonna do it for this one! I hope you all enjoyed reading it!!! Comments and kudos are always appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> hi everyone!! sorry i haven't posted anything new for this series in forever hehe.. im glad to be back though!! I'm not sure exactly how long this fic will be, right now it's been mostly a vent thing for me to work on. We'll see!
> 
> Find me on Tumblr at [ Pipasa! ](https://pipasa.tumblr.com/)


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